Loving You
by tashasfic
Summary: Falling In Love Was Never This Easy. Jean GreyScott Summers
1. Chapter 1

**Loving You**

**by**

**Tasha**

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Disclaimer: The X-Men aren't mine. 

Summary: Jean Grey/Scott Summers. Set before the first X-Men Movie and moves into the story line of both the movies as it goes on.

This chapter, rating and the title of the story may be subject to change later on, but nothing major.

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Prologue: Sugar At Midnight

He blinked in surprise at the sight in front of him. A tall, slender, form, bent over from the waist, stood before him, rummaging through the fridge, presumably searching for something to eat; her short, baby-doll style nightdress hiked up high enough to give him a good enough view of what was under it.

"Mid-night snack?" he asked, eyeing the long, toned legs of the stranger in the kitchen.

She whipped around at his words, head rapidly rising up to eye level, her rear going back down, as she noticed the boy standing in the doorway, his arms crossed over his chest, above the rim of his gray boxer shorts.

"I… I just came in half an hour ago. I was hungry," she explained, stammering, holding up a tub of chocolate ice-cream in her defense. "Would you like some?" she added, in an effort to regain her composure.

He gave a non-committal shrug, but grabbed a couple of spoons and two bowls, and seated himself at the rectangular table, while she pried open the cover of the partly frozen carton, and sitting opposite him, placed it between them. Ignoring the bowls, she pushed her spoon into the ice-cream, and dug out a small, frozen, sweet mound, which she put into her mouth, and he, following her example, took a spoonful as well. She allowed the hard, cold substance to melt in her mouth, before, feeling an introduction was in order, asked, "Are you a new student?"

He swallowed the ice-cream in his mouth before answering, "Yeah, I just came in two weeks ago. I'm Scott. Scott Summers." He was fully aware of how double 'o' seven, his last words sounded.

"I'm Jean Grey."

"I know?"

"You did?"

He nodded, "Professor Xavier said a certain Jean Elizabeth Grey would be coming in tonight. Though when he said you were a genecist and doctor in training, I expected a heavyweight middle-aged woman in a lab coat."

"Sorry to disappoint you," she said, her eyes sparkling in amusement at his words.

"Oh, I'm not disappointed," he replied, a flicker of a smile crossing the somewhat stony expression on his face, as his eyes slipped down for a fraction of a second, to the shapely legs that had caught his attention, now barely showing under the table.

She laughed, though a slight blush began to spread across her face. "I'm glad to hear it," she said, taking another bite of the slowly thawing desert before her.

"So, Scott; Scott Summers, what can you do?"

"Do?"

"Your powers, gift, mutation…., the whole deal."

He was surprised to hear her ask him such a question so candidly. The word 'mutation' had slipped out of her mouth as easily as if she had been asking him for the time.

"I can shoot energy blasts – concussive force," he replied, trying to keep his explanations to a minimum.

She nodded sagaciously, "From your eyes?"

"Yeah, how'd you know?" he asked, surprised.

She shrugged, "Not to be blunt, but not many guys I know wear sunglasses at," she looked at the clock on the wall opposite her, "two in the morning."

"I'm not most guys."

"So I assumed."

"What about you?" he asked after a momentary lull in the conversation. "What's your deal?"

She smiled and wriggled her left index finger at her spoon, causing it to dig itself into the box of ice-cream, and come up with a bite-sized portion, to her mouth.

"Whoa!" he explained in awe. "So can you move anything?"

"Not yet; but Professor Xavier feels I might be able to move heavier objects with time."

"Cool."

"I'm also telepathic."

His eyes, unseen to her, widened in a combination of admiration and alarm at this. "Like the Professor?"

"Not even half as powerful, but yes."

"So can you see what I'm thinking?" he questioned.

"Not unless you want me to."

He scrutinized her earnest expression, finding a certain comfort in the guarded, but still friendly look on her face.

"So how come you're not asleep?" she asked.

"And miss an early morning rendez-vous with the enigmatic Jean Grey?"

She laughed, "Enigmatic?"

"Well, I've heard quite a lot about you. You're famous around here."

"Oh?"

He nodded, "Yeah; and I think I see why," he told her with a teasing smile. "The only girl in a house full of guys."

He was flirting with her, Jean realized with a slight jolt, as she smiled back. He was handsome; she was willing to admit that much. With his well-sculpted features, high cheek-bones and tousled brown hair, he had the kind of face that girls fall head over heels for. His attitude was that of the most popular boy in High School – the star of the football team, who all the cheerleaders swooned over, and he was flirting with her, Jean Grey, geek and book worm extraordinaire.

"So how do you like it here so far?" she asked, in an effort to change the subject. She didn't need a crush. Not now, not anytime before she got her degree.

"It's okay… tends to get a little boring at times," he said, without considering his answer, though he did fee a stab of embarrassment at how ungrateful his words sounded. She, however, didn't seem particularly struck by his reply, but instead, nodded in agreement. "I used to feel the same way when I first came here."

"So how did you ward off your boredom?"

"Reading in the library, exploring the grounds, riding, making a general nuisance of myself," she replied promptly, stifling a yawn.

"How'd you do that?" he asked, the amusement clearly outlined in his expression.

She took another bite of ice-cream before answering, "Trying to adopt every stray cat and dog in the countryside – not cool with the Professor."

He grinned, "I'll keep that in mind."

"Also sneaking down for midnight snacks," she added. "I'm not completely cured of that, as you might have guessed," she said, indicating the tub of melting ice-cream before her.

He shoveled another spoonful into his mouth before asking, "You trying to get me in trouble?"

"Trouble? Who? Me?" she asked, her green eyes opening wide in feigned shock. "No way!"

He smirked, "You're a strange girl."

"No; just a sleepy one," she responded, as another yawn escaped her mouth. "I should probably turn in. Good night, Scott," she added, as she took her spoon to the sink to rinse.

" 'Night," he replied, getting up as well. "Oh and Jean," he added as an afterthought.

"Yeah?"

"Next time you come down for a snack, you might want to dress up a little more…. You never know who you might run into," he said with an impish grin, as he calmly strolled out of the kitchen, leaving a flushed Jean Grey to pick up the remains of the ice-cream.

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TBC... 

Feedback is loved and appreciated.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter 1: Old Friends and New**

Warren Kenneth Worthington the third had made a habit out of being an early riser. His morning ritual was indeed, a peculiar one, to any 'normal' person. No sooner did he get out of bed in the morning and visit the bathroom, than he stepped out to the edge of the small balcony that adjoined his room, and gently glided up to the sky above.

He had been born into a family of industrial tycoons – a combination of coming from the world of 'new money', with enough of an 'old money' background to secure him a high social standing.

An only child, with a larger monthly allowance than he knew what to do with, he was accustomed to the finer things in life, and had lived in the lap of luxury, surrounded my material wealth, at least, if not family.

A modern day Apollo, when it came to his looks, his golden yellow hair combined with his sapphire blue eyes, only offset the rest of his well-sculpted features. His back, however, bore proof of the reason why he spent much of his time at a school for mutants: two enormous wings, sprouting from just underneath his shoulder blades, a fountain of pearly white feathers, with the power to soar.

Anyone who saw him would not mark him to be a mutant, but more of a seraph, as he flew over the tree-tops of the massive grounds of the "Xavier School for the Gifted". He was a sight to behold when he floated through the sky, his wings unraveled in all their glory – an angel.

His wings had begun to sprout when he had turned fourteen and though with the aid of a tight harness, he had always managed to hide them under a jacket, his parents' relief when they heard of the sanctuary where they heard of the sanctuary where they had sent their son to live while he completed his schooling, was evident. He had been the third student to arrive there, at the age of seventeen, and within a week of his entrance, had become firm friends with both Jean and Hank McCoy, the school's other residents. Much to his initial surprise, however, Jean had not been one of the many girls, who had fallen under his charms. If his looks and attitude made him a scorned Apollo, then she played his perfect Daphne; but unlike in the case of the God, the friendship of these two individuals had blossomed.

He flew overhead, his keen sense of sight giving him a bird's eye view of the grounds below. A smile suddenly crossed his face, as he caught sight of a blur of red walking out of the front door. He landed just before his target, his arms stretched out on either side.

"Jeannie!" he exclaimed, wrapping his arms around her.

"Hey Warren," she replied, tightly hugging him back.

"How's college treating you?" he asked when she finally released him.

"Practicals are hell, but I'll survive."

He nodded in agreement, "The last year's always the toughest."

He swatted him lightly on the arm, "Don't preach to me, War. You're still a postgraduate degree short of being able to do that."

"Hey, I'm applying!"

"I know. I'm just jealous that you've finished your undergrad and I'm still there."

"You _are_ a year younger than I am," he reasonably pointed out.

"Beside the point."

He smiled, and casually draped his arm around her, gliding her towards the kitchen.

"We have a new student."

"I know; I met him last night. He seems nice," she added the last part after a moment's consideration, a flicker of a smile tugging at her lips, as she remembered their conversation, the night before.

"He is," Warren said in agreement. "Poor guy couldn't see a thing for the first week he was here. His blasts cut through everything except ruby quartz. Professor Xavier and Hank just managed to create his glasses a week ago. They're Hank's latest masterpiece," he said, as they reached the kitchen, and he slid two slices of bread into the toaster, while she tore open a box of cereal.

He walked into the kitchen to be greeted by the sound of laughter. He paused in the doorway, unsure whether he could intrude on the _tableau_ before him.

"Scott," she said when she saw him. "Care to join us?" she asked, holding up her glass of apple juice in welcome.

"Yeah… sure," he replied, grabbing his own box of cereal and pouring it into a bowl. " 'morning Warren," he added, almost as an afterthought.

"Good morning," Warren replied, spreading a generous layer of cream cheese over his toast.

"Fruit loops?" Jean asked him incredulously, staring at the contents of Scott's bowl. "How can you eat that?"

"I like them," he responded simply.

She shot him a withering look, "Do you know how much sugar there is in that?"

"Do you know how much sugar is in a bowl of ice-cream?" he asked in return.

She appeared unsure of how to respond.

"Am I missing something here?" Warren asked, looking from one to the other.

"Jean eats ice-cream at night," Scott said as if stating an obvious fact, shoving a bite of the colorful rings into his mouth, earning him a glare from the red-head opposite.

"You do?" Warren asked in surprise, turning to face the scowling girl near him.

"Ummm," she responded, trying to evade the question.

Warren smirked back at her, his face bearing an expression of mingled surprise and amusement. "So the truth comes out – the health-conscious, soy-burger eating, celery chomping, Jean Grey sneaks down when we're all asleep to gorge on ice-cream. What do you have to say for yourself, young lady?" he sternly asked a pouting Jean Grey.

"Well, what on earth do you expect me to eat at that time?" she demanded, her eyebrows furrowed together.

"Carrot sticks, cucumber slices, lettuce leaves…" he suggested, laughing, as Jean agitatedly pummeled his arm.

"Scott, man, help me!" he called out, collapsing under his peals of laughter and Jean's fists.

Coming up behind her, Scott simply wrapped his arms around Jean and grabbed both of her fists, as Warren, still smirking at the rise he'd gotten out of his usually composed friend, strolled out of the kitchen, his wings stretching themselves out behind him.

"Health food, huh?" Scott asked her, somewhat reluctantly letting go of the redhead's slim arms.

"I like it," she protested. "It tastes good."

"If you say so," he said, spooning another bite into his mouth.

"I can't believe you told Warren," she said mournfully, her head in her hands.

"So he knows you eat ice-cream. What's the big deal?"

She gave an exasperated sigh, "I don't know… it just is!"

He regarded her dejected expression for a few seconds.

"What if I told you something about Warren?" he asked conspiratorially, leaning towards her.

"I've known Warren for years, Scott. What could you possibly tell me about him that I don't already know?"

"Hmmm… let me see," Scott said, solemnly rubbing his chin, in fake contemplation. "Maybe you'd be interested in knowing that he uses a tea-tree oil face mask?"

"What?" she blurted out, choking on her muesli in surprise, the beginnings of a smile spreading over her face.

"Yup, I walked into his room yesterday, and the guy is leaning back in his chair, with all this green gunk over his face, to prevent him from getting an 'oily T-zone', as he put it."

She giggled, amused. "You know what else he does?" she asked in _sotto voce_. "He uses a curling iron on his hair every morning."

"Really?"

"Yeah; on the front; but don't tell him I told you that. He'll kill me."

"How'd you find that out?"

"He once borrowed mine," she replied, collapsing into giggles once again, finding this entire conversation ridiculously amusing for some reason.

He looked at her, more amused by her amusement, than anything either of them had said. She seemed almost innocently child-like in her behavior, so different from what he had thought she was like after their first conversation.

"You'll are pretty close, huh?"

Jean nodded, "He's one of my favorite people," she said simply.

He nodded in understanding, but felt a strangely jealous feeling come over him, for absolutely no logical reason whatsoever. Mechanically, he took another bite.

"You really shouldn't eat that, though," she said, tapping his cereal bowl, once she had recovered.

"What about this," he asked. "You relax about the ice-cream and I'll eat fruit loops only every alternate day."

"Deal," she said, a half-smile still on her face.

"Would you like to try some?" she asked a moment later, holding out a heaped spoonful.

He wearily eyed the soggy mixture. "Jean, don't push it. It looks like something out of a drain pipe."

She glared at him.

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Feedback is loved and appreciated. 


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter 2:**

**Cementing Friendships**

Notes: _'abc'_ telepthic communication

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'_Cement it!_' The voice commanded in her mind. 

'_I'm trying,_' she protested. 'It's just so hard!'

'_Then try harder_,' came the order.

'_I can't…_'

'_Don't tell me what you can't do!_'

'_Please…_'

'_Stronger,_' he shouted back.

"Ahhh!" she cried out, falling back onto the sofa where she was sitting.

"Relax Jean," the man said gently, all sternness seeming to have melted out of his expression.

"Better?" he asked as she took a gulp of water from the glass on the table beside her.

She nodded in answer, still breathing hard.

He looked back at his first student. His deep brown eyes, locked onto her emerald ones. Telepathy, he knew, was not an easy ability to control. Those endowed with such a power as both of them were, needed to work on maintaining a powerful state of mind, and building mind blocks – telepathic walls to filter out the thoughts of others - was her toughest challenge.

Professor Charles Francis Xavier was a man whose name commanded respect, just as easily as his impressive abilities could demand it. A meek looking, wheelchair ridden man with a benign smile, at first glance, few would have suspected that he was one of the world's most powerful individuals.

He had been born and bred in a family of British aristocrats, the kind who firmly believed that it was blue blood which flowed through their veins. His large estate was only a part of his massive inheritance and his dreams of peaceful coexistence between homo-sapiens and superiors, was only proof of his humanitarianism, as were his plans to set up a school where mutants could live in peace, till they were accepted by society.

Jean gently massaged her temples, her head in her hands, and though mentally exhausted, asked with a reluctant perseverance, "Shall I try again?"

"No Jean, not today. I think you've had enough. Go out and have some fun; try to take your mind off this. We'll try again tomorrow."

Relieved at his dismissal, she left his study, in search of the rest of the institute's occupants.

She found him exactly where she thought he'd be. A bulky man, with a stocky frame, a pair of glasses perched on the tip of his straight but flat nose.

"Is the doctor in?" she asked, entering his laboratory – a mess of test-tubes and bunsen burners, a thick, acrid smell hovering above them all.

Henry McCoy, more popularly known as Hank, turned away from the set of test-tubes he had been intently scrutinizing and smiled at the red-head.

"Having a good day, I presume, roussette?"

"It's not bad… but I am on vacation for the next," she looked at her watch, "two days and nine hours."

"Didn't you have a training session with the Professor?"

"All done. What are you doing?"

"Looking for nitrogen particles," he answered, turning his gaze back to the glass apparatus in front of him, branching out into a detailed explanation, very little of which was of any interest to her, but she listened anyway, nodding politely where she thought fit.

Hank was physically a man who would not have looked out of place at a body-builders' convention, while fitting in just a well among the world's leading scientists.

A child prodigy from Dundee, Illinois, he was one of the lucky handful whose parents hadn't yet rejected him because of his mutation – a fact which made him no less sensitive to the social stigma he had faced throughout his childhood. Almost a Renaissance Man, he was well-versed in literature, philosophy, history of ancient cultures, musicology and a plethora of other subjects. He possessed a special affinity for science, biophysics and chemistry being his specializations, though his habit of quoting literary works could not be ignored.

"So do you see anything?" she asked, as he stopped for breath.

"Not yet," he replied, peering into his test-tubes.

"Do you think you could have a look at a paper I wrote, later? I could really use your input.

"Sure," he answered, without averting his gaze.

"Thanks Hank," she replied before strolling out of the laboratory, and continued her search for the other two occupants, at least one of whom would hopefully have the time to talk to her. This weekend was for playing – books could wait.

She found them both in the game room.

"Hey guys," she addressed them, taking in Scott's triumphant smirk and Warren's furrowed brow. "What's up?"

"This guy is a pool shark, Jean," Warren told her, glaring at one of the brightly colored snooker balls.

"Hey man, don't blame me if you keep loosing," Scott protested, holding up his hands in surrender.

Jean smiled at Scott, before turning to Warren, noticing the dark blue blazer he had just draped over his arm, "Are you going somewhere?"

"Manhattan," he answered. "Duty calls and so does my father. Let me know when you get back to Columbia, Jean."

She nodded and hugged him, "Bye War."

"Bye Jeannie; Scott," clapping a hand on the shoulder of the boy next to him.

"Bye Warren."

"Pool, huh?" she asked Scott, who began to set up the balls for another game, after Warren had left.

He nodded, "Do you play?

She shook her head. "I don't know how; I never learnt."

"It's easy," he told her, positioning his snooker cue in front of the striker. "You just pull back and let the cue tap the ball in front; see?" he said, going through the motions as he spoke. "Try it," he added, offering her the wooden stick.

Taking up the same stance he had, she followed his movements. The ball bounced an inch ahead and then stopped.

"Oh God, I suck!" she exclaimed, dramatically throwing her forearm over her brow and comically collapsing onto a nearby armchair.

He laughed, but offered her a hand and pulled her up to the pool table, and standing behind her, lifted her arm into place. Circling his arms around her, he guided the cue in her hand and gently hit a yellow striped ball, which rolled into the nearest hole.

"There," he said, his breath tickling her ear.

"I got it!" her eyes lit up as she turned to hug him in her excitement, leaving him to awkwardly grasp back at her with one arm, his other holding the discarded snooker stick.

He was surprised by the ease with which she had fit into his arms and the comfort level she had reached with him, that she could hug him simply on an impulse, in what had been only a few hours.

"Yeah," he replied absentmindedly, slightly distracted by the fruity smell of her shampoo. Not that he could help it, her head being right under his nose, he rationalized.

"Let's celebrate!" she exclaimed, pulling away from him.

"Celebrate one shot?" he asked, amused.

She shrugged, "It's as good a reason as any."

"Okay," he said agreeably, not going to be one to pass up an opportunity to spend time with an attractive girl. "Where do you want to go?"

A bright smile crossing her face at his words, she replied, "The singular, most amazing ice-cream parlor on the planet. Meet me in the garage in ten minutes. I just need to grab my wallet."

By the time she emerged, five minutes late, he was already there, standing by the garage doorway, staring almost longingly at the few cars before him, in the mostly bare parking space.

"You like cars?" she asked, coming up behind him.

"Yeah."

"Do you have a license?"

"Yeah."

Walking up to a sleek silver BMW, which had been hiding behind the large jeep Hank normally drove, Jean tossed him her car keys. "You can drive if you like, but hurt my car and I might kill you."

"That's yours?" he asked, admiring the car from afar.

She nodded, "Birthday present from Warren, believe it or not."

"Wow."

"Just your average multi-gazillionaire present."

A lopsided grin crossed his lips at her words, as he opened the car door, and seating himself in the driver's seat, started the ignition. Needless to say, he got both of them and the car, safely to their destination.

"Park over there," she said, indicating a free space near a small kiosk they had driven to.

They walked into the ice-cream parlor, mostly deserted, but for a few children at one end.

"What are you having?" Scott asked her, staring at the long list of the various ice-creams offered, behind the counter.

"A chocolate brownie scoop and a blueberry scoop on a waffle bed with a butterscotch sauce that should be declared lethal," she answered, without a moment's hesitation. "You?"

"Uh, I'll have a bitter chocolate praline sundae."

She nodded, "You get the table. It's my treat," she said, holding up her wallet.

"Thanks," he said, surprised and went to choose one of the vacant booths.

She joined him a few minutes later, balancing the generous portions of ice-cream on a large tray.

She watched him as he took his first bite.

"Good?" she asked.

"Great," he answered, at which, satisfied by his answer, took a spoonful herself.

"This place has the best ice-cream I've ever eaten," she told him. "I used to come here all the time when I was in school."

"I can see why," he replied, taking in the casual but trendy décor and taking another bite of the delicious ice-cream.

"I used to be here, like, thrice a week. At one point, I was friend with all the people who worked here," she continued.

"So what happened?"

She rolled her eyes, but grinned, "I became your average weight-conscious teenager."

He smirked, "It's hard to believe you'd put on weight," looking at the slender figure sitting across the table from him.

"Trust me; it does happen," she replied, patting her flat stomach.

"So what are you going to study now?" she asked after a momentary silence, punctuated only by the sounds of a ten year old slurping his milkshake, two tables away.

He shrugged, "I'm not sure yet. Something with math or physics."

"Where have you applied so far?"

He shrugged again, "I haven't really thought about it."

"You haven't?" she asked, surprised.

"Yeah, well, when all my friends were working on their applications, I was sitting in my room with a piece of duct tape round my eyes," he answered dryly.

"I'm sorry," she mumbled, looking down at the table, silently chastising herself for her question.

"It's okay. I'm just not sure where I want to go."

"Have you given your SATs yet?

"Yeah," he replied, pausing for a second after that, before telling her his scores.

"Wow," she said, considerably impressed by his results. "You should really think about it…. We can try to lead normal lives, Scott," she told him, rightly guessing what was on his mind. "I'm in Columbia, Warren was at Yale, Professor Xavier attended Bard."

"I know," he muttered, prodding the ice-cream in his dish with his spoon.

"Hey," she gently touched his leg under the table with her own. "Don't look so serious. I'm not sentencing you to a lifetime of university torture," she said teasingly.

He smiled sheepishly back at her.

"Now eat you ice-cream before it melts," she told him sternly.

"Yes Ma'am," he answered, taking a large mouthful.

She nodded and shot him a patronizing look, "Good boy. Always do as I say and we'll get along just fine."

He practically snorted into his glass of water, "Hail to the Queen!"

"Smart boy."

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Feedback is, as always, loved and appreciated.


	4. Chapter 4

**Chapter 3:**

**Over The Pizza Pie**

_'__Hey guys,_

_I just thought I'd let you'll know that I've arrived safe and sound. Drop me a line whenever you'll have the time._

_Love ya,_

_Jean.'_

He stated blankly at the computer screen for a moment before moving his mouse upwards to the left of the screen and hitting the 'reply' button.

_'Hey Jean,'_ he typed, _'Glad to know you reached in one piece. Don't work too hard,'_ here he paused, silently debating how to end his abrupt e-mail, before finally just settling on typing his name at the end.

He had barely sent the message, than a window popped up in the corner of the screen, heralding the news, '_Jean is now online'_.

_'Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: Hey Scott!_

_Scott: Hey._

_Scott: What's with the name?_

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: I change it every time I log onto my msn….. ;) This one is from Keats._

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: So what's up with you?_

_Scott: Nothing really. It's quieter now that you've left._

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: Awww…. Does that mean what I think it means?_

_Scott_: _That we can finally hear ourselves think? Yeah!_

_Philosophy will clip an angel's_ wings: _No you dolt!_

_Scott: Sorry, I'm not the telepath. What've you been doing?_

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: I met up with War today. We went out for lunch._

_Scott: Had fun?_

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: Yup…_

_Scott:_ _Good_.

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: So have you thought any more about applying to college?_

_Scott: You don't quit, do you?_

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: Never. So, have you?_

_Scott: In that case, yeah… I thought about it a little._

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: And?_

_Scott: And I'm going to apply._

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: Yay! Go you! Any preferences?_

_Scott: Not yet. I need to see where I get aid and stuff._

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings: You'll get aid… Your scores are high enough.'_

"Scott!" a voice called from outside his room door.

"Give me a minute," he responded.

'_Scott: Gtg. Hank and I are going out for pizza. He needs a break from his bunsen burner._

_Philosophy will clip an angels' wings: lol! Ok…. Bye. See ya._

_Scott: Bye._

_Philosophy will clip an angel's wings:-)'_

He grinned back at the beaming 'smiley face' before switching off his computer.

He hadn't known Jean for as long as he'd known Hank, or spent as much tine with her as he had with Warren, but in the short space of time he'd spent with her, she had immediately become his closest friend of the lot.

His 'friend'. He always smiled now when he thought of that simple, platonic noun. He hadn't thought he'd had any friends for a while. It was a nice feeling to have them again, he decided, as he loped down the stairs, taking them two at a time, till he reached the wide, stocky form, that was Hank.

"You ready?"

"Yeah."

"Let's go," Hank said, striding towards the door, without wasting any time. "I need to be back soon."

"Okay."

"What do you want on your pizza?" Hank asked as they walked into a local 'Pizza Hut'.

"Pepperoni, barbeque chicken."

"Both?"

Scott shrugged, "I'm hungry".

"Hey, sounds good to me… even at four in the afternoon," Hank said calmly, sitting down and gesturing towards the nearest waiter.

"Have you heard from Jean?" he asked, as he and Scott each reached out for a slice of the large pizza pie placed in front of them, which had arrived at their table in record time.

"Yeah. She's reached and met Warren today for lunch," Scott replied before sinking his teeth into the layers of cheese and pizza bread.

Hank nodded, "Not surprising; he always takes her out on her first day back to Columbia."

"He does?"

"Yes. Warren and Jean have always been close." He considered going on about his other friends, and then deciding that sooner or later Scott would find out the truth, added, "They used to date when they were younger."

"They did?" Scott asked, surprised. Neither Warren's nor Jean's behavior had indicated as such.

Hank swallowed down the last bite on his plate before answering, "They used to be quite the teenage item couple."

"Why'd they break up?"

"No idea. They just decided one day that dating wasn't a good idea for them. Or as it appeared, Warren decided. Jean was quite broken up about it. She refused to speak to him for a week; and even after that they didn't bounce back to being the friends they had originally been.

"And now?

"Time heals all wounds, I suppose… and Jean forgives easily."

"She doesn't seem like much of a doormat."

"She isn't, but she's always biased in favor of those she cares about."

"You make her sound like somewhat of a saint."

"She is," Hank responded, "Until she loses her temper. Then I'd advise you to lock yourself up in your room and only exit when the voice screaming in your head stops.

Scott smiled involuntarily at his words. "You've known Jean for a pretty long time, huh?"

Hank nodded, "I've known her since she was fourteen. I was twenty. I used to treat her like a little sister…She had me eating out of her hand within the first forty-eight hours of us knowing each other. It was the same with the Professor and warren."

"She ruled the school?" Scott asked, ginning at the thought of a fourteen year old Jean, lording over the rest of the institute's occupants.

"Let's just say, being the only girl in a houseful of males, does have it's advantages; especially if you're as good-natured as Jeannie."

"Yeah?"

"Of course it didn't hurt that she can cry on demand. We all spent a considerable amount of time wrapped around her little finger."

Scott laughed outright, causing a smile to flicker across Hank's face as well.

"You, Jean and Warren… The three musketeers."

"The three little mutants would be more accurate. Are you done?

"Yeah," Scott replied, gulping down the last of the soda in his glass.

"Can we leave? I need to check on an experiment."

"Yeah," Scott repeated, standing up.

They drove back to the institute in silence; Hank mulling over the chemistry awaiting him and Scott over the conversation they had just had.

* * *

Feedback is, as always, loved and appeciated. 

Disclaimer:I don't own gmail, Pizza Hut, msn..., the works.

... And yeah, I'm going to be quicker with the next update. :)


	5. Chapter 5

**Sun Set**

Bryan Lewis looked back at the young man sitting across from him.

"So that's all?"

"That's all, Scott," he answered, leaning back in his chair.

"What happens now?"

"You cross your fingers and wait. I'll let you know as the results come in."

"Great. Thanks," Scott answered, getting up from the straight-backed chair he'd been sitting in for the past two hours.

"Good bye, Scott."

"Bye Mr. Lewis," he replied, scooping up his jacket and leaving the room. On his way out he paused to smile politely at the beaming, apple-cheeked, plump woman, sitting behind the receptionist's desk.

"See ya, Martha," he said to her, as she got up to usher the next person in."

"Good bye, Scott," she said, a little distracted as the phone on her desk began to ring.

He smiled at her, before walking out into the cool, crisp air. Outside, he paused for a moment and turned back to look at the sterile white board on which the words, 'Bryan Lewis, Educational Counselor' were printed in black, bold, letters.

Laughter greeted him as he walked through the door on the Institute. He could make out Hank's loud guffaw, the Professor's softer chuckle, and a higher pitched giggle that he couldn't quite place.

'Jean?' he wondered as he quickened his pace, moving towards the laughter.

He saw the three of them clustered around a chess-board which he had never seen in use, until this moment.

"What's so funny?" he asked, entering the room.

"Scott!" the red-head exclaimed, standing up, and much to his initial surprise, walking over to give him a hug.

"Hi," he responded, gently squeezing her in return. Releasing her after a moment, he nodded at the black and white checkered board. "Who's winning?"

Wearing a self-satisfied smirk, Jean leaned over to move an ivory colored queen towards a black king. "Check," she said triumphantly, before beginning to reset the delicately carved chess pieces. "Two out of three, Professor?"

"Another time, Jean."

She got up and stretched her arms over her head.

"I'm hungry. Does anyone else want anything?"

"Yeah, me," Scott replied, as Hank and Professor Xavier refused, one leaving to descend to the nether regions that was his laboratory, the other to make an urgent phone call.

"So where were you?" Jean asked as they went to the kitchen. She opened a cabinet and reached inside to pull out a pack of what appeared to be thin strips of cardboard, while Scott, opening the fridge, began to rummage about, looking for a leftover piece of cheesecake from the night before.

"At the Educational Counselor. I thought you weren't getting back until tonight."

"I decided to come a little earlier. Have you finished your applications?"

"Finished and sent. What on earth are you eating?"

"Lemon grass sticks. Want one?"

He wrinkled his nose in response. "Not if you paid me. How are your classes?"

"Good. Where have you applied?"

"NYU, Berkeley, …. a bunch of other places," he said, finally breaking their question-answer repertoire.

"What's your first choice?"

"I haven't really thought about it. I'm not expecting to get into all."

Both chewed in thoughtful silence, till he asked, "Where did you apply?"

"Columbia, Bard, Harvard, Yale… the whole Ivy School deal."

"Did you get into all?"

"Yes, actually; but Columbia had the best location for me."

"You're a true New Yorker," he said, nodding in understanding.

She shook her head, "No… just a true Xavierite. My powers were a lot less controllable at the time. I needed to be close enough to visit the Professor for telepathy sessions.

"Oh," he paused momentarily.

"I can sense you want to keep asking questions," she said, her lips twisted in a slight smirk.

He sheepishly grinned back at her. "Why genetics?"

She shrugged, "It wasn't my first choice. I always wanted to be a vet when I was a kid. I guess realizing that I'm a mutant, changed the way I looked at my life."

The conversation lapsed into silence, until he asked, "You play chess?"

"My father started to teach me when I was just three. My elder sister Sarah never liked it; nether did mom. Daddy loves to play, though." A slightly nostalgic smile came over her face as she continued, "He used to say that he could never find a worthy opponent, so he'd have to create his own."

"I didn't know you had a sister."

"I do. She'd eight years older than I am, is married and has a pair of angelic twins."

"Are you'll close?"

Jean considered this question. "Not until recently. We actually bonded over her children; they're the one thing we both adore." She paused for a moment, as if deciding whether to go on about her life. "Mom and Sarah are as alike as two peas in a pod. Daddy and I are more similar; though when it comes to what we look like, I seem to have gone off on my own tangent. Dad and Sarah are brunettes and Mom is blond. I'm the only red-head in my entire extended family…. It's weird." She paused again, "I'm sorry. I'm rambling. I'll be good and shut-up now."

"No, don't worry. It's interesting," he assured her. It was the truth. He liked knowing more about other people. It made him feel closer to them, and Jean was one person, he had realized, he'd like to be close to.

He was attracted to her, he had decided. However, being attracted to Jean was treated almost as a normal occurrence at the Xavier Institute. Everyone seemed to love her, from Warren's golden retriever to the normally sour part-time cook, hired by Professor Xavier. Scott had almost fallen over in surprise to walk into the kitchen one day and see Jean perched up on one of the counters, chattering away with the usually glaring woman, who was laughing in response to the college escapades Jean was relating.

He liked listening to people talk about them selves. Talking about his own life on the other hand, wasn't something he particularly liked to indulge in; in fact, if he was being honest, he avoided it like the bubonic plague.

"So what else?" he asked her.

Instead of answering his query, she posed one of her own. "Have you ever been to the rooftop at sunset?"

"No. I didn't know there was a way to get up there."

She grinned mischievously, "Where there's a will, there's a way. Come on!" she said, grabbing his hand and pulling him out of the kitchen. He followed her up the carpeted stairs, till she reached a door.

"Jean, that's your room," he said, as she opened the door and walked inside.

"No kidding," she responded, rolling her eyes. Walking onto the balcony, his hand still tight in hers, she asked, "Do you trust me?"

"Yeah," he answered cautiously.

"Good. Then don't let go of my hand," she said calmly.

A second later he found himself hovering a foot above where he had been standing.

"Jean!" he exclaimed.

"Relax Scott," she said, "I've done this before", she added, as they began to levitate high up into the air, as if being pulled up by invisible strings, until they were at level with the roof on which they gently landed. "Don't slip," she warned as she let go of his hand.

"I thought you couldn't carry anything heavy?" he said, a little wearily.

"I can't," she replied, carefully making her way over the shingles of a more steeply sloping area.

"What do you consider heavy?"

"I don't know… a train, maybe… I've never tried to lift one… a plane… the Statue of Liberty…,"

"You've tried lifting the Statue of Liberty?"

"Not very high… Just a little, but it wouldn't budge."

He looked at her in disbelief.

"What? I was twelve, I'd just discovered I could lift things with my mind and I wanted to know how much."

"Yeah, but the Statue of Liberty?"

She shrugged in response and settled down on the roof, her knees pulled into her chest. He sat beside her, and she flexed her fingers, her hand feeling strangely cold, after the warmth of his fingers intertwined with hers.

"Look over at the lake," she told him, pointing.

His gaze followed her finger, to see the sun, a red ball of fire to his sight, falling slowly into what appeared to him to be a pink tinged pond.

"Isn't it beautiful?" she asked, staring out at the sky flushed with the pale pink of twilight, turning into a deeper shade of purple.

He looked at his rooftop companion, her nose pink from the cool breeze, her hair ruffled by the passing wind. Unnoticed by her, a small, stray leaf had settled itself into her masses of red hair.

"Yeah," he agreed, "Beautiful."

* * *

Feedback is, as always, loved and appreciated. 


	6. Chapter 6

**Not Meant To Live Alone**

_I'll b home 4 Christmas: Hey you. What's up?_

_Shades: Nothing much. Isn't that the name of a song?_

_I'll b home 4 Christmas: Yup… but it fits my mood. ;)_

_Shades: Thought you were coming back to the Institute?_

_I'll b home 4 Christmas: That's home._

_Shades: What about Annandale?_

_I'll b home 4 Christmas: A chair is still a chair, even when there's no one sitting there…_

_Shades: Huh?_

_I'll b home 4 Christmas: It's from the song, A House Is Not A Home._

_Shades: Never heard it._

_I'll b home 4 Christmas: Besides, my parents are going on vacation. A second honeymoon of sorts._

_Shades: Their loss, our gain._

_I'll b home 4 Christmas: lol! You're sweet. :)_

_I'll b home 4 Christmas: Hank will be going home. What about you?_

_I'll b home 4 Christmas Scott?_

_Shades: I'll be here when you get back._

_I'll b home 4 Christmas: You don't want to be with your family?_

_((User Shades has logged off)) _

Jean frowned at her computer screen, her previously upbeat mood quickly evaporating.

"I shouldn't have asked that", she ruefully muttered to herself. Scott didn't like to discuss his family life; she knew that.

"Good job, Jean," she murmured under her breath, flopping down on her bed.

"You talking to yourself again?" A voice interrupted her mutterings. "I keep telling you, Jean, that's the first sign of lunacy."

Jean looked up to meet the warm brown eyes of her room mate.

"I'm an idiot, Misty."

"It took you long enough to realize it," Misty Knight answered teasingly, sitting down beside Jean on the single bed and affectionately putting an arm around her shoulders. "What'd you do?"

"I pried. I'm too curious," Jean replied, allowing her head to flop down onto Misty's shoulder.

"No, you're just always concerned. Who's the lucky pryee?"

"One of my friends from Westchester."

"The cute guy?"

"Yes; I mean, no… I mean, yes, he's cute, but I'm not talking about Warren. It's the new guy, Scott."

"What did you do?" Misty repeated her question.

"I asked him about his family. He _never _wants to talk about his family."

"So what's he like?"

"He's tall, dark hair, smart, serious but still funny…"

"So what's the deal with the secrecy?"

"I don't know," she let out a frustrated sigh.

"Sounds pretty unfair."

"I'd just like to know _something _about his life, you know? He never tells me anything. I know more from reading his medical chart than talking to him."

"Maybe he's shy."

"No, that's not it," Jean said wryly, recalling their first conversation.

""Maybe he's a selfish jerk?"

"I don't think so."

"You're only saying that because you think he's cute," Misty said accusingly.

"Excuse me, but I don't like people just because they are cute."

"Okay, fine," Misty continued, looking back at Jean, one eyebrow raised. "He's a cutely selfish jerk."

Jean laughed and swung her legs off the bed and shrugging on her jacket, scooped up two books from the small mountain of textbooks on her desk.

"Where are you going?"

"Library. Ted missed some stuff in class yesterday. I'm just going to catch him up."

"You know he's just looking for reasons to spend time with you."

"We're only friends, Mist."

"So says the girl who spends at least one night a weekend, in intense discussion with the same guy."

"Yes, well you'd be surprised how fast discussing the mechanics of DNA kills and sense of romance."

She contemplated Misty's words as she ran up the steps leading to the library. Pausing for a moment outside the heavy library doors to smoothen down her windswept hair, Jean steeped inside, scanning the room for the dark haired Ted Roberts. She was spending a lot of time with him, but virtually all was to 'help' him along with his work. She hated to judge, but Ted's work was dismal. He needed help and she could provide it. That was about all their friendship was based upon. She smiled as her green eyes connected with his soft brown ones.

"Hi," she greeted him, setting down her books and slipping into the chair opposite his.

"Hey," he responded, eyes lighting up behind his glasses.

"So, where are we?" she asked, opening on of her books.

"Here," Ted answered, indicating the correct page.

"Great, this part is easy," she said, before launching into a highly complicated explanation.

* * *

Three days later Jean packed a small bag and drove to Westchester. She smiled as she stepped through the door, the familiar warmth of home, mingled with the delicious smell of freshly baked Christmas cookies. Following the smell, she reached the kitchen.

"Hi, Tania," she greeted the dark haired woman.

"Jean," the cook answered, grabbing the redhead in a one armed hug. "Look at you, child! You're as thin as a toothpick. What have you been eating?"

Jean laughed out loud at the same words Tania always greeted her with.

"No deli, restaurant or cafeteria can cook like you do."

"Flattery will get you no where," Tania replied, though a pleased smile spread across her face, as she handed Jean a freshly baked cookie, in the shape of a snowman.

"How are they?" she asked, as Jean took a bite.

"Heaven."

"Now you run off and find your friends. There are only three of you'll here this year." Tania was prone to treating Jean like a five year old, and Jean, enjoying the occasional 'mothering' never complained.

"Three?"

"You, the Professor and Scott. Warren had a last minute work crisis."

"He's working over Christmas?" Jean asked incredulously, wrinkling her nose in disbelief, as she took another cookie.

"You know those tycoon types," Tania said dismissively, waving her hand. "work, work, work,… that's all they ever think of."

"Warren thinks of other things," Jean protested, automatically jumping to his defense, though honesty forced her to admit to herself, that work was more often than not, at the forefront of Warren's mind.

Tania looked at her sharply, her black eyes making Jean squirm. The cook was the one person who always seemed to know exactly what Jean was thinking.

"Go off and find your friends," she repeated finally, dismissing Jean as one does a small child, pressing two more cookies into the younger girl's hand.

Jean left the kitchen, and nibbling at the head of a Santa Claus, chewed it thoughtfully, as she made her way to the living room, where she found the two males she was looking for.

"Hello Jean," Professor Xavier's words cut into her thoughts. She hurriedly swallowed the last bite of her Christmas star.

"Hi," she answered. "Hey Scott," she added tentatively, almost afraid that he would ignore her greeting.

"Hey Jean," he replied calmly, smiling widely at her.

"Um… hi," she said again, slightly taken aback by the warmth with which he greeted her. She had assumed that he wouldn't have been in the best mood with her. They hadn't spoken at all since the last time he had abruptly ended the exchange they had been having.

"Who did the tree?" she asked, glancing at the tall conifer.

"Warren, Hank and I," Scott answered. "They left gifts for you under it."

"Great!" she exclaimed, a sudden gleam in her eyes, as she walked over to the large evergreen tree and kneeling down, scanned the small pile of brightly wrapped presents.

"To be opened tomorrow," Professor Xavier's voice brought her back to the fact that it was still Christmas Eve.

Jean pouted, but got up and slumped down on the sofa. Scott smirked back at her, "Tomorrow isn't so far away, Jean."

"I know," she mumbled, but leaned over to rummage around in her bag and pulled out five colorfully wrapped gifts, and walking over to the tree, placed four of them under its spreading branches, leaving the fifth on the coffee table.

"Who's that one for?" Scott asked curiously.

"Tania. I have to give it to her before she leaves."

The phone rang and Scott reached over to pick it up. "Hello?" he paused. "Yes, he's right here. Could you hold on a minute?" he handed the phone to the Professor, "It's a Dr. Richards for you."

"I'll take it in my office. Thank you, Scott," Professor Xavier answered, maneuvering his chair out of the room.

"What did you get her?" Scott asked, indicating Tania's gift.

"A book on quilting."

"Quilting?"

"Yeah, she loves it."

"What about everyone else?"

"You'll have to wait and see when they open them."

"Hank wont be back for another week!" he protested.

"I know; but it can wait for him. When's Warren going to be back?"

"Day after tomorrow evening."

'Jean, Scott' Professor Xavier's telepathic voice interrupted their conversation, causing Scott to start in surprise. He had never spoken telepathically to anyone before.

'Yes?' Jean asked, shooting a quizzical look at Scott, who shrugged in return.

'There's been an emergency in Floral Park, Nassau County. A young boy who's X-Gene has just been activated. He might need help.'

'What can we do?' Jean replied.

'Tell Tania we're leaving and then come to the driveway. Hurry.'

"I'll tell Tania," Jean said, a sudden tone of efficiency entering her voice.

"Where are we going?" Scott asked, almost blankly.

"Floral Park, Nassau County. You heard the Professor," Jean said, shooting him an exasperated look. Her face softened at his confused expression. "We go and check the situation, see if the person needs any help and offer them a place to stay if they need it. Like the Professor, Hank and Warren came to help you."

Scott nodded, a new sense of understanding coming over him.

"Let's go," he said suddenly, striding out of the room, Jean following in his wake.

* * *

Feedback is, as always, loved and appreciated.

Jean is associated with both Ted Roberts and Misty Knight in the comics. My Ted and Misty are a little different, though. ;)

"I'll Be Home For Christmas" is a song by Whitney Houston and "A House Is Not A Home" is by Luthor Vandross. I don't have anything to do with either, as you might have guessed.


	7. Chapter 7

**Sanctuary**

It was five in the morning when they got back. Four tired figures made their way through the front door of the institute.

"Would you like something to eat, Robert?" Professor Xavier asked the newcomer, who listlessly looking at the carpet on which he was standing.

"No thank you, Sir."

"Maybe you'd like to rest for a while?" The Professor pressed on.

"Yeah… okay."

"Jean…" Professor Xavier said, looking at her, "Would you…?"

"Sure. This way, Robert," Jean replied, stifling a yawn and ushering away the latest mutant to enter the Institute.

The professor watched them go, before turning his gaze towards Scott. "Can we talk for a minute."

Scott silently followed Professor Xavier into the living room. He didn't need to answer the Professor's request: it had been a statement, not a question. He sat down on the overstuffed armchair, facing the Professor.

"I'm impressed, Scott," Professor Xavier said, leaning back in his chair, as he began their dialogue.

Scott wasn't sure how to respond. "By what?" he asked finally.

"By you. You showed an admirable amount of courage and determination, especially considering the lack of training you've had with your powers."

"It wasn't all that much," the younger boy answered, a little embarrassed by the unexpected praise.

"I beg to differ, Scott. It was all that much. You displayed a fine taste for leadership, whether you noticed it or not. Jean followed every one of your suggestions without question… and she's been questioning everything I've told her ever since she was twelve," he gave a small smile at these words. "What I'm trying to say Scott, in my round-a-bout way, is that whenever there is any need for you'll – Jean, Warren, Hank and yourself – to go help any other mutant, I'd like to know that someone responsible, that is to say, you, would be the one in charge."

"Me?" Scott asked, blankly.

"You."

"But… they wont like it. I'm the youngest and I don't have any experience or anything."

"Experience can be gained; and as for everyone else, I know my students. Jean has already accepted you as a leader tonight, Hank has never had the motivation to lead, Warren lacks the temperament, and I lack the mobility, as you've probably noticed," he said with a smile, trying to lighten the newly formed stiff atmosphere which suddenly now existed between them. "Try it, Scott. Think about it and let me know."

* * *

Jean walked into the spare room she knew Tania would have prepared for any unexpected guests or new residents.

"Here," she said, pushing open the door and giving the boy as welcoming a smile as she could muster on an empty stomach and no sleep in over twelve hours.

"Thanks," he said, his voice soft, as he stepped inside.

"There's an extra set of clothes in the cupboard," she went on, "And towels and stuff in the bathroom, if you need them."

"Thanks," he said again.

"You're welcome, Robert."

"It's Bobby, actually," Robert Drake said suddenly, snapping out of his monosyllabic state.

"Okay, sorry," Jean replied, looking sympathetically at the boy. His fear was so evident, that she'd have been bale to see it even without her telepathic powers. He'd sat down on the bed and was staring down at his feet as if afraid to meet her eye.

"Would you like anything else?"

"No thank you."

"Okay… My room is just above this one. So if you want anything you can get me, or you could…"

"Can I just know your name? Please?" his voice interrupted hers, as he abruptly looked up.

She looked back at him, a rapid sense of guilt sweeping over her. They'd taken a young, teenage boy away from his family, his home, to an entirely new place, only hours after his mutant ability to condense moisture in the air, making it into ice, had erupted in front of several people, including his parents, his brother and many of his friends. They'd just shown up, three strangers, no introductions, no explanations, no nothing. Of course he was scared. Save the Professor, who'd thought to introduce himself at some point, he didn't have a clue who he was with.

"The guy with the red shades is Scott Summers. The red light he shot out of his eyes is concussive force; basically energy, out of them," she simplified. "The ruby quartz his glasses are made of is the only thing that can control them." He nodded and she continued, "I'm Jean Grey. I'm telepathic."

"I thought you were telekinetic," he interrupted. "I saw you wave at some stuff and it just lifted up."

"That too," she said with a smile.

"So you can have two mutations?"

"Sometimes."

He looked back down as he silently digested this new piece of information.

She paused for a moment before hesitatingly sitting down next to him. "Bobby, we're not going to hurt you. You can leave any time you like."

"Where would I go? I_ have_ to be here," he muttered, the bitterness evident in his voice.

"You could go home."

"I'm a mutant," he said, if that settled the matter.

"So am I," Jean countered.

"Your parents don't mind?"

Jean paused for a moment. "I can't say it's what they always wanted, far from it, in fact; but it's who I am. They don't have to like it, they just have to accept it."

"Was it easy for you to tell them?"

Jean shrugged, "They knew before I did."

Bobby opened his mouth, as if to ask another question, but then, deciding against it, averted his gaze once again, to the carpeted floor.

"Your parents…," Jean began.

"… don't know anything," Bobby interrupted her. "Professor Xavier modified their memories or something."

"At least you get to break it to them when you're ready."

"At least," he agreed, a sarcastic tone to his voice.

"You can call them later if you like."

"And say what? That a disappeared on Christmas Day to visit a school for mutants?"

"I was thinking more along the lines of saying you were at a private school."

"At Christmas?"

Jean smiled wryly, maybe we'll just leave the explaining to the Professor.

Bobby shrugged, "Whatever works."

"It's going to be okay."

"Yeah… sure," he said, yawning.

"Why don't you try to get some sleep? Whenever you wake up, just come down."

"Where will you guys be?"

"The Professor will know when you're down. Don't worry," Jean answered, getting up and walking to the door. "Good night, Bobby."

He continued to stare at the door even after she'd left, before eventually kicking off his shoes and lying down.

* * *

Jean went back to the living room, having passed an empty Scott's room on her way, reaching there just in time to hear the Professor's last words to Scott. They didn't surprise her; she had expected as much. Scott had a naturally authoritative nature and though she responded well to authority, she had no desire to be the one in whose hands that authority was vested.

"He's asleep," she said flopping down on the sofa. She looked at her left wrist, to realize her watch had obviously fallen off at some point.

"Six-fifteen," Professor Xavier answered her unarticulated question, before slowly adding, "Merry Christmas Jean, Scott."

"Merry Christmas," they answered in one breath.

After a pause, during which Scott, unseen to the other two, closed his eyes, and the Professor lent back in his wheelchair, Jean asked, "Can we open our presents?"

Scott looked at her in disbelief, "Aren't you tired?"

Jean shrugged sheepishly, as the Professor nodded his consent.

A sudden spark in her eyes, Jean bent down, to rummage through the small heap of presents for her own, passing the Professor and Scott their respective gifts.

"Luthor Vandross, Greatest Hits," Jean said, unwrapping the first of her lot, "Thank you, Scott," she added.

"It's got that song you were talking about, so I thought you might like it, but you can exchange it if you want," he said, though he privately hoped it wasn't an album she didn't have, nor one she didn't want.

"Are you kidding? It's great. I love Luther Vandross."

He was pleased by her words, though a part of him couldn't help but wonder how much was the truth and how much was politeness. She seemed to sense this and ripping open the seal, telekinetically floated it over to the stereo system which sat on the sideboard and switched it on.

The melodic voice, accompanied by the tearing of wrapping paper was the only sound that pervaded until the last of the presents had been opened.

"Is anyone hungry?" Jean asked, yawning again.

"Yeah," Scott replied.

"I think I'll turn in, actually. Jean, would you wake me if Robert gets up anytime soon?"

"Yes," Jean said, then adding as an afterthought, "He prefers Bobby, actually."

Professor Xavier nodded in response, before exiting the room, leaving Jean and Scott to their own devices.

"Don't you want to sleep?" Scott asked Jean.

"Yes; but I want to eat more," she replied, though he lifted her legs and curled up on the sofa she was sitting on, her head resting on the arm rest, her eyes closed.

"Jean?"

"Mmmm," she responded, eyes tightly closed.

He looked at her for a moment, before silently getting up and going to the kitchen, poured out two bowls of Jean's (tasteless?) wheat flakes and doused them in milk. Bringing them back to the room, where the dozing form of Jean lay, he placed one on the coffee table beside her and once again settling into the armchair, spooned a bite of the cereal into his mouth.

He looked in disgust at the brown flakes floating in their pool of milk and wished he'd remembered to put some sugar on his breakfast, but his legs hurt too much to get up again.

"What are you eating?" Jean's sleepy mumble came, as he chewed down on a particularly crunchy bite.

"Wheat flakes."

She opened an eye at his words. "I thought you didn't like my cardboard flakes," she said, using the name Hank had selected for her preferred choice of cereal.

"I don't. You're just lucky it was the first box I picked up."

Sitting up, she reached for the second bowl near her. "How is it?" she asked, taking a bite.

"Like cardboard."

"Have you ever eaten cardboard?" she challenged.

"Uh… no."

"Then how can you be sure it tastes like cardboard?"

He shrugged, "Just a hunch."

They chewed in silence for a while, the first gentle morning rays of the sun, streaming through the large French windows.

"Did you get any water?" Jean asked, swallowing her last mouthful.

"I only have two hands. I couldn't carry that much."

"I'll get it," she said, reclining again on the sofa.

Scott looked at her expectantly, but she didn't get up. "Jean, the kitchen is that-a-way," he said, after a few moments of waiting for her to move.

"Shhhh…," she shushed him, frowning, though she didn't open her eyes.

Half a minute later, as if on an invisible conveyer belt, two glasses of water and a carton of orange juice floated into the room and settled themselves on the table near Jean. Sitting up and taking a sip from one of the glasses, she handed the other over to him.

He drained the glass before asking, "Couldn't you have told me you could do that before I got up in the first place?"

"I was asleep," she protested, "But thanks for the breakfast."

"You're welcome. Besides, I hear it's the best way to wake up any girl after an eventful evening," he said, a quick grin spreading across his face.

She rolled her eyes and filled her now empty glass with the juice.

Hi grin got bigger at her dismissive attitude as she passed him the juice carton.

"You're incorrigible," she informed him, "And I'm going to take a shower," she added, swinging her legs off the couch and standing up.

"What? No good morning kiss after I made you breakfast?" he continued teasingly, playing on his earlier comment.

Jean narrowed her eyes at him, but walked over and bent down, bringing her eyes down to his level, just an inch away from his. She was so close that he could see the light dusting of freckles at the nape of her neck, just above her collar bone. She could make out his almond shaped eyes behind his thick glasses. When she spoke, he could feel her breath on his face and smell the tangy scent of the juice they had shared.

"Sorry Summers, but I don't kiss on the first date."

Pulling away, she turned on her heel and left the room. Suddenly pausing at the door to let out a breath of air she hadn't realized she had been holding.

* * *

Feedback is, as always, loved and appreciated. 


	8. Chapter 8

**Coffee Shops and Conversations**

His eyes scanned the crowd, searching for her. All around him people milled about, talking to their companions. The smell of coffee beans hung thick in the air and the easy chatter of the five teenage girls at the neighboring table sounded in his ears.

"He did?"

"Yeah!"

"No way!"

"Way!"

They were doing a rather dismal job of pretending they weren't watching his every move. He shifted his position to give himself a better view of the entrance, ignoring the suddenly quieter buzz of talk coming from the next table.

The door opened, allowing a fresh gust of cool air to enter, as she walked in, searching the room until her eyes settled on the blond haired boy, patiently sitting on an overstuffed brown couch.

"Hey babe," he greeted her as she slid onto the couch beside him.

"Hey dude," she answered, as he dropped a quick, casual kiss on her cheek, earning her glares from a few of the girls in the room, including the five sitting behind her. "You've got to stop calling me that if you ever want to get a date, Warren," she teased him.

"Calling you what?"

"Babe. I caught about half a dozen angry thoughts when I sat down."

"From who?"

"That girl over there, the one at the counter, the girls drinking the vanilla lattes and believe it or not, the guy who just walked out. Any comments?"

Warren flashed his charming smile at each of the girls as Jean mentioned them, all of whom smiled back, before saying, "Well the guy was quite good looking."

Jean scrutinized him, "Is there something you're not telling me, Worthington?"

"Girls are hopeless. They cry at everything," he said, a slight crease forming between his eyebrows.

Jean snorted with laughter at his words, "You sound like a five year old, War."

"It's true!" he protested.

"I take it that means you broke up with everyone's favorite desert?"

"Huh?"

"Candy, Warren; Candy Southern. Remember her? Tall, brunette model, can't stand the sight of me."

He rolled his eyes. "I know who she is, but your sense of humor is terrible."

"Why did you dump her?"

"Why do you say she doesn't like you and what makes you think I dumped her?" he asked all in one breath.

"Death glares and thoughts; and you've never been dumped."

"Yes I have," he promptly disagreed.

She waved her hand dismissively, "I don't count. You deserved it then."

"If I promise to be good and love you forever will you take me back?" he asked, giving her his best wounded expression.

She gently slapped his arm, "Stop evading the question! Why did you dump her?"

Warren frowned in response, focusing his attention on the little drops of condensation forming on the outside surface of his glass of iced tea. "Too clingy."

"Clingy? What did she do, call you once a day?"

"Try, showed up at my office in the middle of meetings to insist I take a lunch break and have long arguments with my secretary on why she should be allowed in. Then when she wants to wake up at five in the friggin' morning for a jog, she wants me to as well."

"You could have just talked to her about that."

He eyed her wearily, "At which point she'd start going on about how what was important to her wasn't important to me, which would lead to an argument, which would end in tears, thus leading my earlier statement: Girls cry at everything."

"Ouch."

"Yup, I can really pick them."

"Maybe you should consider taking a girl's common sense into consideration before you ask them out," Jean said, lifting her hand into the air for the umpteenth time, in an effort to get the waiter's attention.

"What can I get you?" he asked, finally coming over.

"A strawberry smoothie, please. Oh, and a chocolate doughnut for my friend."

The waiter nodded before hurriedly walking off to another beckoning table.

"You reading my mind, Red?"

"You projecting your thoughts, Angel?"

"What do you think of the new kid?" he asked, changing the subject he was rapidly getting bored of.

"He's nice, kind of funny, actually; and talkative."

"Xavier just wiped his family's mind blank and fed them the whole deal about it being a prep school, huh?"

"Yeah. Last I heard, he'd started school at Bayville High."

Warren pulled a wry face, "Poor kid."

Jean nudged him gently with her leg under the table and lowering her voice said, "Even mutants have to go to school, you know."

"I meant about his parents. It's a lot to hide."

"I know. He seems to be doing okay, though. You should visit sometimes, you haven't been there in over three months," she said, looking at him accusingly.

"Hey, I call," he protested. "Besides, Xavier's always said how glad he'll be if we all just integrate ourselves into the rest of society."

"Yeah, but don't be such a stranger. I think I'm the only one who ever sees you, and that's only when I'm n the city."

"Dad's turning more responsibilities over to me as we speak, Jeannie, I barely have the time."

"Make time."

"Is today only about lecturing me?" he asked impatiently.

"No. It's about getting my mind off studying," she answered, smiling her thanks at the waiter who set a glass full of a frothy pink liquid in front of her.

He took a bite of his chocolate coated order just as his mobile phone rang. He looked at the caller's identity flashing across the screen.

"Speak of the devil," he murmured, before putting it to his ear and saying, "Hey, dad…. Right now? Can't it wait till tomorrow?" Jean could hear the scratchy sound of Warren's father's voice through the phone, though she couldn't quite make out the words. "Fine. I'll be there in an hour," he said, after a few more minutes of conversation.

"What's up?" she asked, when he had lowered the phone.

"Jean, I have to go," he said, slipping his phone into his pocket.

"What's wrong?"

"An emergency board meeting."

"I thought this was your day off?"

"It was," he said dryly. "Come on, I'll drop you off on my way."

Jean got up and shrugged on her jacket, leaving her drink unfinished, as Warren placed a few crisp dollar bills on the table.

"So, we never got around to talking about you," Warren said, as he pulled his car out of its parking space.

"That's because there isn't really anything to talk about," she replied, shooting him an amused grin.

"Don't lie…. Nothing to talk about in the fabulous life of Jean Grey?"

"That's a program."

"Come again?"

"The Fabulous Life. They feature a different celebrity every time. You know, like The Fabulous Life of Simon Cowell, or Oprah, or some one or the other."

"And I thought you were complaining that you had no time for television, not even enough to watch the old guy win American Idol."

"I don't. Bobby watches it. He finds the announcer's voice funny for some reason…. And Taylor Hicks isn't old."

"The man has gray hair and wrinkles."

"They're laugh lines. Besides if you don't like him, maybe you should try voting next time."

"I vote for the President, isn't that enough?" he asked, taking a sharp turn. "And as I was saying, what's your news."

"Nothing other than studying."

"What? No parties, no boyfriends?" he asked, as Jean shook her head.

"Crushes?"

He grinned triumphantly as a light redness began to spread over Jean's cheeks and an involuntary smile began tugging at her lips. "C'mon Jeannie, spill. Who is it?"

"No one," she mumbled.

"What's he look like?" Warren asked, ignoring her comment. Teasing Jean always had the remarkable side effect of amusing him beyond measure.

"Drop me off here," she blurted out in response.

"Don't be ridiculous. It's cold, two blocks away and I still need details."

"Warren… I need to talk to Ted," she protested, her voice sounding an octave higher than usual. She hated that whiny pitch. Taking a deep breath she repeated her request, "Here's good."

"Fine; but next time, I want to hear something interesting," Warren said, pulling the car to a stop.

"Will do," Jean said with a smile, glad to have evaded the dreaded question – for the time being at least. "Bye Warren."

"Bye Babe."

"Bye," she repeated, closing the car door and jogging across the street. "Ted!" she called out, as she neared the slowly walking form.

The brown haired man turned around, a smile lighting up his face when he saw the red head, "Hi Jean."

"Hey," she smiled in return.

"Your boyfriend?" he asked, looking above Jean's shoulder, at the black sports car which hadn't budged from its position.

Jean shot a withering glance at Warren who was peering out of the window.

'Warren, I don't have a crush on Ted, for crying out loud!' she telepathically informed him, as she replied out loud, "No; he's just a very protective friend, who seems to think I can't cross the road or talk to a member of the opposite sex without a chaperone."

Ted laughed and after a second, during which she waved at her self-appointed guardian angel, she joined him.

Reaching her room, she sat down at her desk and switching on her laptop.

'Coffee is a student's best friend: I have no life.

Scott: And hi to you too.

Coffee is a student's best friend: I repeat: I have no life.

Scott: Why?

Coffee is a student's best friend: I'm bored, tired and lonely. What's up with you?'

She paused, waiting for his response. When none came, she continued to type.

'Coffee is a student's best friend: Scott?'

The ring of her cell phone sounded, and picking it up, she pressed it to her ear, without so much as glancing at the number of the person calling.

"Hello?"

"Hey, bored, tired and lonely. When exactly did you change your name to that?" a familiar voice greeted her.

"Hey you," she said, a smile coming over her face.

"I have good news."

"What?"

"Guess."

"You finally learned to eat healthy?"

He laughed, "Try again."

"Bobby's stopped freezing the water pipes on accident?"

"No; I mean, yes, he has, but that's not it."

"Just tell me!"

He could virtually hear her pout across the phone line.

"I got in."

"Got in where?" she asked confused.

"University, Jean."

"Oh my God! Which one?" she exclaimed, suddenly in a much more bouncy mood.

He laughed, "I'm going to NYU."

"That's so close," she said, excited for a moment, though then she asked, "Is that why you chose it? I mean, I know I did, choose it, Columbia, because the Professor is so close and all but you don't have to hold yourself back for anything, you know what I mean, right?" she asked, forming a somewhat muddled question.

"I know. It's where I want to be, Jean."

"Good… Wow, NYU sounds great…"

"Yeah. Maybe I'll do half as well as you, if I'm lucky."

"You'll do better; but keep it up, I could use the pep talk."

"Why? What's wrong?"

"Nothing too bad. I'm just tired. Warren is working so much I hardly ever see him anymore, my roommate is in the worst mood since a week, now and my professors seem to have gotten the idea that the last few months is a good time to triple my workload."

"Take a day off," he suggested.

"I tried. All that happened was a talk with Warren on why Candy Southern is too 'clingy', as he put it."

"His girlfriend?"

"Ex-girlfriend, but yeah."

"You know, she never liked you," Scott told her.

"I ask for a pep talk and he tells me who doesn't like me. Thanks a lot, Summers," she said sarcastically.

"Hey, I just thought you'd like to know."

"I know. If she had your powers, I'd be blasted into smithereens, right about now. Warren has a knack of choosing girlfriends who dislike me. I don't think they like their boyfriend being such good friends with some other girl… It's the problem that comes with having guys as your best friends."

"You and Warren are pretty close?" Scott asked, feeling the tiniest prick of jealousy. He had become strangely accustomed to thinking of Jean as his friend only, and somewhat of his exclusive property, ever since Christmas. Hank was becoming less and less available to him, Bobby was too young, Professor Xavier, too old and Warren, generally absent. Jean had become the only person he could truly connect with – a friendship born somewhat of necessity, but mostly out of want.

"Yeah; he's one of my best friends," she said calmly, no exaggeration or elaboration needed.

"One of? Who are the others?"

"Don't make me come over there and hurt you, Summers. You know perfectly well who the other two are."

"Hmmm…," came the response, as if he was wrapped up in great thought. "Is it Pablo?"

"Scott, I don't know if you realize it, but Pablo is Warren's golden retriever. I know you'll are at the same intellectual level and I'm rather fond of him, but the long yellow tail and floppy ears should give you a hint."

"Very funny."

"I'm hysterical. Actually, I mean the mad scientist we keep locked up in the basement and that suspicious looking guy with the shades."

"Oh them," he said dismissively, then adding as if the thought had just struck him, "Why?"

"Well I like the scientist because he's smart."

"What about the other guy?"

"Shades? He makes me laugh."

He smiled at himself, feeling a queer sense of pride coming over him, almost as if he'd accomplished something. 'Best friends' weren't something he'd been giving much thought to, since before he was in high school. Yet, the simple term seemed to carry so much weight in his mind at the same time. It was so childish and still so intimate at the same time. He had a best friend and her name was Jean. He smiled wider.

She was talking again now, he realized and tuned himself in to her voice at the other end of the line.

"… So, I should probably get back to studying, since I'm not really doing anything else."

"Yeah," he agreed, absentmindedly.

"Bye Scott."

"Bye," he replied, "And Jean?" he added, just before she hung up, "Thanks."

She smiled back at the phone in her hand, before setting it down on her desk, beside her computer, all of a sudden, not minding Warren cutting their meeting short as much as she had before. Yes, she had a crush…. But she was damned if she was telling Warren who it was.

* * *

Feedback is, as always, loved and appreciated.


	9. Chapter 9

Old Friends

She waited patiently in line for her name to be called out, amidst the polite applause that greeted the girl with the honey blond hair, who was smiling at some face in the crowd.

"Aren't you excited?" a girl standing behind Jean whispered.

Jean looked around at her, "Yes," she murmured in undertone, trying to keep her voice down and still be heard in the cavernous hall.

"I mean this is just so great!" The girl continued, "My parents are so excited. They brought my brothers and sister along as well. I'm the oldest, so I'm the first of us to graduate. Is anyone here for you?"

"My parents should be here," Jean replied, trying to remember the girl's name… Stephanie? Or was it Melanie? Melissa, maybe?

"Good luck," the girl whispered again, as the line in front continued to grow shorter.

"Thanks, you too," Jean said.

A few moments later her name was called and she walked up, dimly aware that she was getting a louder cheer than that of her peers. She looked out at the audience to see her parents sitting in the third row: Her father fumbling for his camera, her mother beaming up at her, sister trying to catch her eye, as she clapped for all she was worth. Jean smiled back, feeling a sense of accomplishment; it wasn't often that the Grey family marched out together, but when they did, they did it in full form.

Then she saw them, her principle cheerers. A group of five sitting all the way at the back, four of them on their feet. She looked back at them, tears pricking her eyes. The Professor and Hank, clapping with an enthusiasm which rivaled anyone else's in the room, Warren and Scott, each holding up one end of a banner with her name printed on it, Bobby, who was creating enough of a din for all the other four, rotated between whooping and calling out her name at regular intervals.

"Your friends?" The girl who had been talking to her earlier asked, as she joined Jean when they'd both completed their fifteen seconds in the spotlight.

Jean shook her head at Stephanie Green, or was it Greer…, "No; just family."

"My baby sister's all grown-up!" a voice cut through the crowd, as Sarah swooped down on Jean, slipping a card into her hands. "That's from the twin monsters I keep at home," she added with a slight laugh.

Jean looked down at the card, on which a duo of similar looking purple monsters had been drawn with a third, taller red, shapeless 'monster'.

"I look like a sack of potatoes," the red head replied said in response to her flattering portrait, hugging her sister. "Thanks for coming, Sar."

She turned to hug her parents, seeing her pep-squad approach from over her father's shoulder.

"Hello, Charles," Jonathan Grey greeted the Professor, as Jean introduced the rest of the group to her mother and sister.

"You guys know Warren and Hank, and this is Scott and Bobby."

"Warren, it's lovely to meet you again," Elaine said with a smile, as she was reintroduced to the wing-hidden Angel, who responded in kind. "And you Henry," she added as an afterthought, though her politeness ended there, Scott only getting a quick nod of acknowledgment. As for Bobby, he seemed to have drifted off into his only world, where nothing existed beyond his daydream.

As the conversation grew, Jean found herself the only one to talk to a slightly restless Scott.

"Thanks for coming."

"No prob."

"I like the sign… Who made it?"

"Tonya," Bobby said, choosing that moment to snap out of his reverie. "Because she couldn't come. Did you see us?"

"Of course," she said, grinning, "I was the only one with my own cheering-squad".

"Jean!" a voice called out her name.

"Misty!" Jean exclaimed, waving her friend over. "Scott, Bobby, this is Misty, my roommate; Misty, Scott and Bobby," she said, waving her hands to indicate each person as she said their name.

"Hi," Misty said to both, though her eyes remained focused on Scott, who met her scrutiny with an inquiring, raised eyebrow. "Come on," she said abruptly, pulling Jean's arm. "I want you to meet my dad."

As they walked towards a stocky man, Misty leaned over to mutter in Jean's ear, "So that's the cutely selfish jerk?"

"That's him, alright," Jean answered, shooting a backward glance in Scott's direction, who looked quizzically back at her.

"Cute," Misty stated.

"Hence the name."

* * *

One week to the day later, Jean Elizabeth Grey, holder of an undergraduate degree, returned, bag and baggage to the Xavier Institute, to find some changes in the stately mansion. 

"A special work-out room?" she asked, confused, following the Professor and Hank into an elevator, which seemed to be taking them underground. "What's wrong with the gym?"

"Nothing, actually, the gym's still there. This is to help you learn how to gain control of and use your powers better, Jean. A kind of high-tech obstacle course if you will." Hank said in reply, shooting her an excited look as they neared this latest project.

The elevator stopped and the four made their way over a metal ramp to a heavy metal door marked with the letter 'X'.

Hank punched in a security code and the door slid open to reveal a large, empty room, built of more of the same metal.

"It's still under construction," Hank elaborated. "The security system needs to be updated, for one."

"Whose idea was it?" Jean asked, staring around in a combination of disbelief and fascination at the high walls.

"My vision," Professor Xavier answered, "and Hank's design. We've also had some help from… an old friend."

Jean stared at him for a full five seconds, a slight change coming over her face, quickly covered up before all but the one she was speaking to, saw.

"Eric?" she asked flatly, though she was aware of the answer. There were few 'friends' the Professor trusted the welfare of his students with.

"Yes," came the dreaded answer, confirming her suspicions. Eric Lensher was not a man she was particularly fond of.

A friend and contemporary of Professor Xavier, Lensher was a mutant and a veritable master of magnetism. He had the power to manipulate and mould even the minutest particle of metal to suit his purpose. His time spent in a concentration camp, as a child had given him a cynical view about humanitarianism. His bitter hatred towards much of mankind had left Jean's mind cold from their very first meeting. Telepathy was not a gift when it enabled you to feel pain.

When as a child, Jean had first come to live at the Institute, 'Magneto' as he called himself, was a regular fixture at the mansion, often staying there for weeks at a time, then disappearing for months. Though he had always praised the young red-head as a child he had some affection for, the sometimes lifeless, often cold look she saw in his eyes had frightened the then twelve year old.

With his help, Professor Xavier had built the mutant tracking device, 'Cerebro', which was a marvel in itself. Under a metal dome lay a runway leading to what appeared to be, an open space. A helmet at the end of the runway, accentuated the Professor's telepathic abilities, to help him find other mutants, around the globe. The Professor had banned the child Jean from using it, extracting many promises from her never to touch the helmet, much less, put it on. Magneto, on the other hand, had always encouraged her to use it to stretch her powers. Jean the adult, had yet to go against the Professor's orders.

A differnce of ideologies had finally created a rift between the two and the red-haired teenager hadn't been very sorry to see the master of magnetism leave her home for the last time. Lensher had left without any intention to return – until now.

_'Why is he helping you?'_ Jean thought, indulging in telepathic conversation with the Professor.

Instead of answering her, he said out loud, "Hank and Scott will show you the rest. I'll see you tomorrow. I have some work that must be done."

As he got to the elevator, Jean got her answer, _'To help you'll'_.

For a split second she felt a surge of anger, which disappeared as suddenly as it came, as if suppressed by some external force.

"This is the best part," Scott said, as they ushered Jean through a long corridor, into a room, devoid of anything but one very large black item.

"Oh my God!" Jean blurted out, staring at the streamlined plane in front of her.

"It's a Blackbird," Scott explained, patting the plane's cool, metal body, with something close to affection. "Mr. Lensher got it here… he never said exactly how… fished it out of the ocean, or somewhere."

Jean's attention snapped back to her earlier thoughts at Scott's words.

"Is Mr. Lensher here a lot?" she asked sharply.

"Quite often," Hank replied from behind her.

"We're fixing her up," Scott continued, reverting his attention to the plane, which was clearly for him, the highlight of this tour.

"It's great, Scott," she said, cutting him off, before he could branch out into a lecture on aerodynamics. "Can we go back up? I'm kind of tired…" her voice trailed off.

They rode back up in the elevator, Scott enthusiastically describing every detail, happily oblivious to the fact that Jean wasn't registering a word he said.

"So, what do you think?" he asked at the end, as they reached the top of the staircase, near Jean's room.

"You stay away for four months… it's amazing how much you miss," Jean said wearily, hoping her answer was one which suited the question.

"Jean, are you alright?" Hank asked, as Scott paused long enough for him to get a word in.

"Yes… I'll see you guys in the morning," she replied, closing her door before either of them had a chance to respond.

She lay in bed for over an hour, mulling through her thoughts, strangely disturbing ideas plaguing her mind. It was past three in the morning, when she finally gave in to sleep, it being the only panacea for her agitated mind.

* * *

Feedback is, as always loved and appreciated. 


	10. Chapter 10

Lifeline

She knew he was awake even before he left his room. Her glaring eyes were the first thing to meet his dark ones when he slid open the door.

"Why?" she demanded flatly, exuding anger from every inch of her body, her green eyes cold as marble.

"Why what, Jean?"

"Don't pretend!" she snapped. "You know exactly what I'm talking about. Why didn't you tell me?"

"I didn't want to upset you."

"I'm not a child, Professor!"

He moved his chair out of the corridor and into the kitchen. She followed him, seething in temporarily silent anger. Betrayel showing clearly on her face. She had trusted him with every part of her, now he'd brought the man she most feared into her home.

"Sit," he said to her.

"I prefer to stand," she said coldly.

"I said to sit, Jean," he repeated, a measure of authority creeping into his voice.

She pulled out a chair and sat down, all the while staring daggers at her teacher.

"I didn't tell you because you weren't here. I didn't want to upset you at the time. The boys didn't tell you because I asked them not to, to keep you from being distracted from your work."

"I'm here now."

"Yes, and now you know."

"Why is he back?"

"To help."

"We don't need him."

"Never turn help away Jean, you don't know when it will next be offered."

"Don't give me your freakin' philosophies. I'm not stupid. Save it for everyone else."

"They realize that Eric is here to help us," he said, trying to pacify her.

"They think he's going to help," she corrected him furiously. "He _never _helps."

"Jean…"

"He never helps!" she repeated, tears beginning to well up in her eyes. "I hate him!" she exclaimed, now shouting, an almost hysterical level to her voice. "I hate him! He told me that my parents sent me here to get rid of me, that Annie's death was my fault, that at some level I always wanted her to die, because I knew that I was better. He said that it was better she was dead, so that I could realize my full potential."

"Jean…," he said again, trying to calm her down.

"He did!" she shrieked, tears streaming down her face, her hysteria reaching full level. "Don't say he didn't! He did, he did! You know he did!"

"Jean, you know that he didn't mean it the way it sounded."

"I was twelve! He made me think my parents had rejected me, that my best friend's death was my fault!"

"Jean, he never meant to hurt you."

"I was twelve," she said again. "It's his fault. He was in the car."

"It was an accident."

"No, it wasn't. He made me think it was my fault, and now he's back… How could you let him… He'll do it again… To Warren, to Scott, Hank, Bobby."

"Warren is rarely here. Besides which, he, Hank and Scott are all adults. They can take care of themselves."

"What about Bobby?"

"He's changed, Jean. He knows he was wrong."

"How would you know?"

"Jean…," he started again.

"Don't," she said, eyes fixed on the wooden table before her. "Just, don't."

He looked at her for a moment, before leaving the pin-drop silence that pervaded the kitchen.

* * *

"Jean," a voice sounded in her ear.

"Go away, Scott," she said, her voice muffled by her arms, folded on the table, on which she had rested her head.

"What's the matter?" Scott asked, sitting down on the chair next to hers.

"It's none of your business," she said, sounding more waspish than she felt towards him, though she lifted her head up to look at him through swollen eyes.

"I wake up in the morning and the first person I see is my friend in tears and it's not my business? Try again."

She absentmindedly pulled at the edge of the tablecloth, evading his gaze, before she finally said, "Annie".

"Who's Annie?"

"My ex-best friend."

"What happened to her?"

"She died when I was ten… Don't look like that, it's not your fault," she added, as an awkward look came across Scott's face, or what she could see of it anyway.

"We were playing. It was a hit and run _accident_," she said, sarcasm heavy on the word, 'accident'. "It awakened my telepathy and I got sucked into her mind. I felt her die… It put me into a coma," she continued in monotone. "When I woke up, the telekinesis kicked in as well."

"That's… did they catch the driver?"

"No," she whispered so soft, he barely caught the word.

"You didn't get the car number?"

"I was ten. I don't remember who he was."

He squeezed her arm sympathetically, his arm around her shoulders. She leaned back into him, allowing him to hug her. She held on to the front of his shirt, grasping the material, as if for life.

"I can't believe he did it," she mumbled, dry eyed, her eyes completely cried out.

"He?" Scott asked.

"The driver."

"How do you know it was a he?"

She silently breathed into the soft cotton of his shirt.

"Jean?"

"Promise you wont tell?" she asked, looking up at him, a childlike expression of desperation on her face.

"Yeah."

"Swear on your life?" The childlike expression seemed to enter her voice.

"Yes Jean."

"Eric," she said after a pause.

"Eric Lensher?" he asked, confused.

Jean nodded, her head still on his broad chest, as if drawing comfort from the fabric under her cheek.

"There was no driver to find. He moved the car. He killed her."

"What?" he asked incredulously. "Does the Professor know?"

"Yes."

He didn't say anything back, unable to find the words to help, but gently stroked the back of her head instead, hoping that touch could fill in for words. Her face lay nuzzled in his arm, as he, her friend, held her, giving her the friend's touch she needed.

She breathed in, deeply, subconsciously aware of the musky odor of his deodorant, mingled with the clean smell of soap, creating a comforting scent that was uniquely Scott. He moved his head a little to the side, to keep her red hair from tickling his still unshaven chin. The sweet strawberry scent floated up to his nostrils as he gently rocked her back and forth. Strawberry; red, like her hair. Even her shampoo had to match. 'Typical Jean', he thought.

"You okay?" he asked, when she finally pulled away.

"Yeah, thanks."

"Anytime."

She gave him a wry smile, "I might have to take you up on that the next time I watch 'Titanic'."

He smiled back, glad she'd changed the subject. Not that he wasn't there to listen if she needed to talk, but… "Have you had breakfast yet?"

"No."

He got up. "Come on, I'll take you out."

"Where?" she asked, pushing back her chair and standing up. "Nothing's open this early."

"I'm sure we'll find something."

They ended up at the closest 'McDonald's', barely open, and split a sundae between them.

"You want to go back?" he asked, when she had finished her second chocolate milkshake. ("Comfort food", she'd said).

She shrugged, "I guess".

"He'll be there by now. He's been coming every day," he said, trying to avoid saying his name.

"I know."

"You're okay with that?"

"No; but I have to accept it. Eric is a part of my life. I don't have to like it, or even be just okay with it, but as long as the Professor is a part of my life, he will be too. I know that; I accept that."

Hank's once spoken words floated into Scott's thoughts on the way back. "Jean forgives easily." He hadn't thought much about those words then. Forgiving an ex-boyfriend was one thing. Forgiving your friend's murderer, was beyond him.

"Do you forgive him?" he couldn't help but ask, as they drove up to the mansion gates.

Jean stared out of the car window. "I don't know. I can forgive what he did to me, I can't forgive what he did to Annie, or her parents… that's not for me to forgive. He took her life. I'm still here."

They had barely steeped in the front door, when she found herself face to face with him. Tall, grey hair, steel grayish-blue eyes – he hadn't changed much, though time had taken its toll, drawing wrinkles where none had existed before.

"Hello Jean."

"Hello Eric," she replied, meeting his gaze with an eerily serene outward ease.

"Have you seen what we've been working on?"

"Yes; it's impressive," she answered calmly, though her hand, which had somehow found Scott's, was tightly holding on.

"I heard you just graduated," he continued, his eyes momentarily flickering down to her fingers, intertwined with Scott's.

"Yes," she responded, trying to keep up the façade of small-talk and formality, till they were interrupted by Hank or Bobby. She could hear Professor Xavier approaching. Scott continued to look at her, surprised at her composure. She wished he wouldn't, but she couldn't let him leave her. Not now, not yet.

'_Don't let go_,' a voice sounded, clear in his mind. His eyebrows went up in surprise at the sound of her voice in his mind, a first.

'_I_ _wont_,' he thought back, squeezing her hand a little tighter, as if to reassure her.

"Charles," Lensher said, as the Professor entered the room, flanked on either side by Hank and Bobby. "I've been thinking, maybe Jean should try Cerebro. Surely now…"

"No Eric," Xavier interrupted in a firm voice. "Jean's not ready yet… and I think she's had enough for the day."

"It's barely eleven o'clock… After lunch, she could…"

"No Eric," the voice remained firm.

"She'll need to sometime."

"But not this time… Hank, I believe you had something you wanted to ask?"

As Hank began his speech, Jean nodded her silent thanks at her teacher, all anger having ebbed away.

'_Thank_ _you_,' she whispered mentally to him.

'_He'll be gone in a week's_ _time_.'

'_When will he be back?_'

'_He_ _wont_.'

She had trusted him with every part of her, she knew he'd never turn his back on her entirely. She smiled a weary smile at the Professor, squeezing Scott's hand at the same time.

* * *

Feedback is, as always, loved and appreciated.


	11. Chapter 11

Dare

"Ludo?"

"No."

"Chinese Checkers?"

"No."

"Pictionary?"

"Bobby, I'm trying to read," Jean protested, turning the page of the book she had been immersed in for the past half hour.

"But I'm bored," the fourteen year old whined back. "There's nothing to do here."

"Go study," Jean suggested.

"I'm bored enough as it is."

"Fine, then go talk to Hank or Scott."

"Hank is in his lab and Scott is messing about with that plane you guys dug up from no man's land."

"Read a book," she offered as a last-ditch effort, reluctant to put down her own novel and amuse him.

Bobby frowned at her. "Jean, come on…" he said, using the wheedling voice only the youngest in any group could get away with.

With a sigh, Jean put down her book. "Okay, what do you want to do?"

"Play a game."

"What kind of game?" Scott interrupted, making a sudden entrance into the living room where the other two sat.

"Anything that doesn't involve my moving," Jean replied, comfortable in the armchair she sat curled up on.

"Cards?" Scott suggested.

Jean pulled a disgusted face in response. "Anything more complicated than 'Go Fish' confuses me."

"You can read Virgil, but you can't play cards?" Scott asked her, eyeing the cover of her book.

"Yes," Jean replied calmly, raising it up to shield her face and resume her reading.

"Truth or Dare?" Bobby asked, interrupting the conversation in which he had no part.

Scott shot him a wry glance, but Jean's eyes lit up at the proposal.

"Oh, I haven't played that since I was thirteen!" she said reminiscently, crossing her legs and sitting up, suddenly interested.

"Great, I'll start," Bobby grinned, "Scott, truth or dare?"

"Dare," the older boy answered wearily. This was a game he automatically associated with a giggling sleepover of pre-teen girls – not a trio of which he was a part.

Bobby smiled wider, the look of a dare-giving veteran etched on his face. "I dare you to kiss Jean."

"What?" the redhead blurted out. "That's not fair!"

Scott smirked, this game having taken on a more interesting turn than he'd been anticipating. He walked over to where Jean sat, and bringing himself down to her eye level, paused, partly for dramatic effect, and partly because he was struck by the thought that the first time she'd bent over to stare straight into his eyes in the same manner, had been the same night Bobby had come to the school. The 'Iceman' was turning out to be quite the catalyst in their lives. Slowly, he raised himself up a notch higher, to give her a chaste peck on the forehead.

"That's not fair," Bobby echoed Jean's words.

"You said kiss," Scott replied, "You didn't say where." Then, sitting down, he went on, "Okay, revenge time, for making Jean blush," he said, nodding at Jean's faintly pink cheeks, which promptly got a shade darker. "Bobby, truth or dare?"

"Dare," the younger boy challenged him.

Scott thought for a moment before saying, "Go fetch a pair of Jean's underwear."

"Scott Summers!" his name reached his ears, just as, with a wave, a cushion flew off the couch and onto his chest; another wave seemed to pin Bobby's feet firmly down to the carpet.

"No powers, Jean," Scott protested, adding, as she continued to scowl at him, "Okay, I'll give him another one."

Glaring at the two boys, she loosened her telekinetic hold on Bobby, who, before she could physically stop him, had already sped out off the room, and appeared to be lunging up the stairs.

"Robert Drake, if you don't get down here this instant, I'm going to hang you up on the chandelier," she shouted. When she didn't get a response, she turned to a smirking Scott. "Stop it! I don't see how this is revenge for 'making me blush', either," she snapped.

"Sure it is… can't let the kid get better at embarrassing you than I am," he grinned at her, as Bobby returned, triumphant, from his quest. Not for the first time in all the years she'd lived at the institute in the company of members of the male species, was Jean glad she kept her simpler lingerie at the top of the pile.

Smirking, in a manner infuriatingly like Scott's, Bobby turned to Jean and asked, "Truth or dare?"

"Truth," she replied, deciding to play it safe, as she reached out a telekinetic arm to snatch away the simple cotton garment and stow it behind the cushion of her armchair for the moment, before any harm could come of it.

"Who was the first guy you ever kissed?"

"That's private!"

Bobby rolled his eyes, "No wonder you haven't played since you were thirteen, Jean. You suck. You say 'truth', you have to answer… it's not too hard."

I know, she said dryly, frowning at Bobby. After a moment she replied, "Warren".

"Worthington?" Scott blurted out in surprise.

"Yes," Jean shot him an exasperated look. "Don't look so astounded, Scott; I know Hank told you we used to be a couple."

"Yeah, but I didn't know he was your first boyfriend."

"Well, he was. Truth or dare?"

"Dare," Scott answered, "It's always dare."

"Why?" she asked.

"That would be asking for the truth. Try again."

* * *

"Scott," Jean asked again, posing the inevitable question.

"Dare."

She glared at him. Not only was she running out of things to dare him with – all of which he'd managed with an infuriating ease – but she was getting a bit irritable, having had the two boys enthusiastically tear into every aspect of her personal life.

"Fine," she said sulkily, crossing her arms over her chest. "I dare you to tell me the truth: why do you always have to choose a dare?"

For a moment he didn't answer. The silence of the room was only broken by Bobby humming the theme song to 'Who Wants To Be A Millionaire'.

"That's not allowed, Jean," Scott said finally.

"Why not? It's a valid question."

"No, it's not. Bobby, stop humming that," he snapped at Bobby, who stopped, and taking a look at Jean's flashing eyes and Scot's clenched jaw, decided to leave the room.

"Yes, it is."

"No, it isn't."

"Well, maybe I wouldn't have had to ask it, if you ever told me anything about yourself… and was there a point in going through every single little detail of my life right now?" she said, frowning.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean?"

"What do you think it means? It wouldn't hurt you to actually _talk_ to me once in a while."

"I'm talking to you now, aren't I?" he demanded, a tone of obstinacy to his voice.

"Yes, but you never tell me anything."

"Sure I do."

"No you don't! I mean, what do I really know about you? I know you like pool and are originally from Alaska, and I learnt the second part from the Professor…You could be a serial killer for all I know!"

"Don't exaggerate!"

"It's true!"

"So? It's not like you tell me everything."

"Oh, don't even start that, Summers! I've told you everything you've asked and more!" she said, standing up and glaring at his seated form.

He got up and faced her. "You didn't tell me you used to date Warren."

"You never asked and it was a long time ago and I knew Hank had told you and I didn't think it was so important that I had to bring it up again!" she shouted it one breath.

"That's not the point!" he yelled back.

"Then what is?"

"You aren't supposed to mix the two!"

"The two what?" she shouted, exasperation building on her anger.

"Truth and dare!" he shouted his illogical argument and strode out off the room. Had there been a door, he would have slammed it.

Jean flopped back onto the armchair, remorse rapidly replacing her anger. She had a quick temper, but it tended to fade as quickly as it came; and she hated to fight. Confrontation was something she evaded as far as possible; outright screaming matches, she avoided like the plague.

Outside the room, he glared at the open door frame. Obstinacy made him believe he was right; the truth compelled him to realize that she had not been in the wrong. He had never been one to divulge any excess information about himself, though of late, he had taken his personal policy of secrecy to a whole new level. The ridiculous last comment he had flung at her, echoed in his ears.

Friends were hard to come by; he'd learnt that in the past few months. He didn't need to lose the best one he had.

"I don't like spiders," he blurted out, swiftly and suddenly striding back into the room.

"Huh?" Jean asked, looking confused at the sudden proclamation from the person whom she had been engaged in a shouting match with, not ten minutes ago.

"I don't like talking about myself, because I think it sets myself up for disappointment… why get attached to someone you might have to leave? I'll try and change…. I've only tried caviar once, and I didn't like it. I used to be scared of the dark until I was fifteen. I love 'The Simpsons'. "

"Scott, what…"

"I don't like regular coke. I think diet tastes better, so sometimes I decant it into a regular coke can. When I'm really hungry, your lemon grass biscuits don't taste half bad. I finished a pack once when you were away and Hank walked in and saw the empty pack and asked who'd eaten them… I said Pablo must have… Warren wanted to take him to the vet."

Jean stifled a snort of laughter.

He paused for a second to take a breath of air and then continued, "I just had a fight with the best friend I've got. I was over something insanely stupid. I know she'll forgive me, because she's awesome," he said, shooting her a crooked smile, which disappeared as he went on, "I hope she's not fed up with my stupidity. I really like her. My problem is that I might even have a crush on her – I have to get it out. I'd like to ask her out, actually, but I don't know how she'd respond. Sometimes, I think she might just like me; other times, I think she's just humoring me. Do you think you could talk to her for me?" he finally ended.

"I don't think she's fed up of you," Jean said softly, after taking a moment to absorb the full meaning of Scott's words.

"What about everything else?" he asked.

Jean paused, unsure of her answer, before finally saying, "You're younger than her."

"Yeah, but it's only three years and we get on really well. So you think she'll go out with me if I ask her?"

It was a good thirty seconds before Jean answered, "She might. I guess you'll have to ask her to find out."

"Oh," Scott replied. Then, nonchalantly, he sat down on the sofa, and picking up a magazine lying on the nearby coffee table, began to flip through it, unconcerned.

"Scott?" Jean asked, after staring at him for a few seconds.

"Yeah?" he asked, barely glancing at her.

The glare began to form upon her brow again, as she got up to leave the room. As she passed him, he reached out, too fast for her, and caught her by the wrist. Laughing, he pulled her down to sit beside him on the couch.

"Will you go out with me?" he asked her, smiling his charismatic full-blown smile, the richer, less seen counterpart of his characteristic smirk.

She pretended to consider the question. "That depends on where you take me."

He hadn't thought that far ahead. "You choose".

She smiled. She, Jean Grey, had a date with Scott Summers.

* * *

Feedback is, as always, loved and very much appreciated. 

It goes without saying that I have nothing to do with Coke, The Simpsons, or the concept of Truth or Dare. ;)


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